Psychosis
by dinosaysRAWRrawr
Summary: Conrad spends his time doing two things: Hanging out with Luce Worth, and going to psychiatrists. Though Luce may serve as an escape from his overbearing mother's determination something is mentally wrong with him, he starts to doubt himself. Young!ConWo
1. Psychiatrist

Whoa guysss. First multichapter HiNaBN fic. What do you know. Anyway! I have no idea how many chapters this will be, but I will go ahead and say I have a lot in my head planned for this, and have also been sketching out a lot of things from this story. Just to make things clear: This is a YOUNG Conrad and Worth fic. It's starting off T for swearing and sexual themes, but will eventually become M. Aren't you all lucky? 8D This is written from Conrad's perspective, and so you all know, I got the idea for this based off of one of Tessa's pictures of young Conrad called Was Nothing Wrong Originally (Which you can view here: .com/gallery/#/d2gx484).

I want to thank Blue for being my Beta! My very first and I appreciate it so much because my brain autocorrects so much and I get tired of reading my own crap, ahah! I hope you all enjoy (:

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I never understood what he saw in me, Luce Worth. He was always so popular. I always felt so out of place. When it came to things between me and Luce, I was just about as confused as I could possibly be. Things between he and I are nowhere near _normal_. He is in college, me, in high school. I'm freshly sixteen, he's twenty-one. Verging on twenty-two if I remember correctly. Age aside, I'm an outcast. I'm a mental case.

I feel even more nervous the more I think about it when in a place like _this_. I'm sitting in a chair, in the center of a room, facing a desk, some new psychiatrist seated there. My mom tells me something's wrong with me. She tells me I'm a problem. I could be dangerous to society if I am allowed to keep going on with life untreated. To be completely honest, I never thought anything was wrong with me. I think I had a pretty normal childhood. Well, as far as broken homes and paranoid mothers go. I played with racecars and had friends. Well, a few friends. The older I got, the more awkward I got. I suppose it doesn't help that I need glasses, and the current pair I own are really large, and very, _very_ round. They weren't my choice, believe me. Sometimes my mother has odd modes of punishment, my glasses being a perfect example. When I needed a new pair, not too long ago, she had picked out these hideous things and told me that until I learned to cooperate with the psychiatrists, I would have to suffer with them as a reminder that I'd been ungrateful for the help she was trying to provide me with. Not to mention all the guilt she gave me about the monetary aspect of all these doctor visits. But if I had my way, I would just hole myself up in my room and draw, and probably never come out.

Maybe there is something wrong with me.

Allowing my mind to wander is never a good thing, especially when I am sitting here, fidgeting, biting my lip and playing with the hem of my sweater, my eyes darting to the clock on the wall every other minute it seemed. We're at a stalemate. To be completely honest, I can't even remember what he asked me. I respond automatically these days. Each psychiatrist always asks me the same questions on the first visit. Stupid questions. How I feel about my mother (shitty of course). How I feel about school (I don't really care, I just go and deal with it). How I feel about my other relationships (what other relationships? Sure, there's Luce, but I'm never, _ever_ going to tell anyone about that). How I feel about myself (I don't know).

This was my third shrink in the span of a month. The last two claimed they saw nothing wrong with me, other than that I might be a bit too shy and need to get out more. Mother would have none of this, and of course complained directly to their faces, saying that they clearly don't know how to do their job, and that they should learn to search for mental illnesses better. Maybe my biggest problem is really embarrassment whenever I'm around her.

"Conrad?"

"Hm."

"Are you going to answer the question?"

I stare blankly at him. I guess this is enough information for him to realize I've already drifted off to another land inside my own head and have no idea what's going on in reality.

"I asked you if, aside from your mother, you have anyone you can talk to?"

"I can't talk to my mother." I say bluntly without really thinking about it, feeling irked as I watch him scribble a few things down, as if it was a miraculous gem of information I had just provided him with.

"And…" I really contemplate whether I should even _think_ to go there. But, the last thing I need is for this quack to think I am a complete loner. I basically am, but I'll do my best to avoid those pitiful looks. "Yes, I do." Luce Worth. The blonde med student to be that smells like tobacco and who goes to college only ten minutes away, who I see nearly every day, no matter how hard it is to sneak out, and who is completely and utterly strange in my opinion, but someone, nonetheless.

"Oh?"

Well don't act so surprised. "Yes. I do."

"Do they go to school with you?"

"…Yeah. He does."

"Would you say that you have a healthy friendship with this young man?"

Hah. Really good question. If only this idiot knew that the person I was talking about was not who I made him out to be. But now those questions got me thinking about what I was really talking about. Healthy friendship? I felt strange around him. He is crude a lot of the time, and he always gets drunk and parties when I'm not around, and I feel even more like a little kid when I spend time with him. But he has his good moments, when he'll wrap his arm around me for no reason while he talks to his roommate, or give me a half smile before he goes to do something _nice_ like buy me a coffee. But then again, healthy probably isn't something like having sex with him when it's seriously illegal. But, even though I've come to this conclusion, there's no way in hell I'm throwing this shrink a damn bone.

"Yes. Very. We tell each other everything, and he's never let me down. I would say he is my best friend, and I wouldn't trade him for the world." I smile, showing all of my teeth, and I wonder if I didn't do that well enough, and that he caught on to my sarcasm. I really couldn't help myself. I was getting very tired of these visits.

"I am glad I have him as my friend, and I don't really know what else to say… but it's exactly two minutes until the session's over, and I have a lot of homework, so I think we're good." I stood up without waiting for him to agree and simply grabbed my book bag and high tailed it out of the room. I think I'm pretty soft spoken, but after months of this constant crap, I think I've gotten a bit ballsier. Ballsy enough to end the session for him and leave because I'm seriously _sick of this_.

When I get back to the waiting room, my mother is expectantly waiting there, looking over me the same _stupid_ way she always does when I leave. It's as if the shrink might have discovered what was wrong with me, and it somehow physically manifested itself since the epiphany. I look at her pretty firmly for a moment before I cast my eyes away and take a seat once more, watching as she gets up and leaves to go talk to him herself. More alone time, more waiting. I am at a point where I don't know if I like being alone or not. I like to be _away_ from my mother and people who are constantly trying to diagnose me, but being alone isn't the… best feeling.

I want to see Luce. I want to see him right now. I had told mother earlier that I needed to go to the library to do some work with a classmate, and she bought it. Considering how paranoid she is, it's a wonder to me at all that she lets me get out. I guess it could be she knows as well as I that I am a social outcast, and can't imagine that I would have anyone to sneak out to see. There's also the bonus that she knows I like reading and being in libraries anyway.

So the minutes tick by, and I try to be as patient as I possibly can, I really do. Soon enough, she comes out, giving me a frown. Great, nothing's wrong with me, what a surprise. Now I'm going to have to get an earful as if this was, once again, my fault for not being as screwed up as she wants me to be.

"He doesn't know what he's doing." She grinds out in my direction as she readjusts her purse in an annoyed way, giving me an expectant look as she begins to walk out. I follow. I always follow, like some stupid lost puppy who doesn't know better, and it really annoys me deep down.

"He says you have depression." She sighs, holding a slightly crumpled paper to her nose to read it better. She should just go ahead and get glasses. Big round hideous ones like mine.

"He also says that you appear to be very resistant to speaking to others, so you should learn to socialize more before it develops into anything else. But he doesn't see anything wrong with you. I'm getting you depression medication. And I'm looking for a new psychiatrist."

Figures. I knew it was going to come to this. Soon enough, mom wouldn't be satisfied, and they're just going to start loading me up on pills, thinking it'll fix anything. But they won't. Depression, whatever. That's one thing I won't deny having. I get depressed a lot, but maybe it's because my mother is determined I am retarded when I'm not. I really don't think I have a chemical imbalance that makes me depressed, or that I am a threat to society. Does she think I'm going to be like all those weirdoes out there who take katanas to grocery stores, or steal giant tanks and parade down the streets with them, leaving a path of destruction in my wake? Does she think I'm going to be some serial killer? I couldn't imagine hurting anyone, really, not to the point of serious injury unless it's necessary to defend myself, and it isn't like I have a history of animal abuse. I love animals. I remember there was a stray cat a few years back that I took care of. I would sneak out of my window to feed him whenever I could, and he was really nice, especially for being feral. When she found out, she grabbed him from me and called the pound, and told me I can't be around cats because I'm allergic.

I'm allergic? I guess so, if she says I am.

"Sorry, mom." I am at least going to try to side with her on the outside so she'll lay off for the rest of the day. "Hopefully someone will be able to figure it out." I said that a bit distantly. I didn't really care, and I still don't believe it.

"But, uhm, mom? I have to go to the library for studying and a project, remember?" she looked me over as if deciding if she would change her mind or not. Eventually, she rolled her eyes and pulled over to the bus stop, giving me the usual lecture to keep her informed and have my cell phone on loud and by my side at all times, and that I am not to be home any later than nine o'clock. Nine… pretty generous. Regardless, I was finally free. From my mother's scrutinizing eyes and those stuffy waiting rooms and uncomfortable chairs. I could finally go see Luce. I pulled out my phone and brought up his number, immediately composing a simple text, telling him I was done and on my way. I clutched my phone and waited for a response, but I never got one. I knew he had read it, and knew I was coming, but he never really responded back to messages like that.

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The bus ride was only fifteen minutes or so from where she had dropped me. Considering I have been with Luce for about four months, I know the campus really well now. I remember how happy I was when I found out that the library was open to the public at certain hours, and that was actually where I met him. It was a nice day, so I was reading outside instead, and without warning, he walked into my life and completely took it off its course. He was smoking a cigarette, of course, and he gave me the strangest look, one that still makes me a bit flustered. I don't think I'll ever know _what_ possessed him to initiate conversation with me that day, but he did. Sure enough, we saw more and more of each other, and I guess I can admit to myself I started going more often just to see _him_. The attention he gave to me was just so new, and I liked when I was around him, even though he isn't someone I could really see myself being attracted to. How it happened, I'm still not sure. It isn't like Luce is the kind of guy to ask someone out on the date. It just sort of… came to be over time. One minute I was reading a book or sketching, idly chatting with him, then next thing I knew, I was in his dorm room, being told his roommate wouldn't be back until the next day.

When I knocked on the door, it wasn't Luce who answered. Rather, it was the infamous roommate who he had, Lamont Toucey. He was really weird to me. He always gave me strange looks and creepy smiles, but it wasn't like he did anything bad. I guess I should have expected him to be weird considering the fact that he was the only other person who knew about Luce and me, and didn't seem to give a damn. In fact, he just spent most of his time when he was around both of us laughing his weird donkey laugh and going about his own business.

"Oh Luceeeeyyy, your girlfriend's here!" he sang towards the back room before stepping aside and returning to the couch, leaving me to help myself inside with my nose scrunched and a pretty annoyed look on my face. I hate it when he calls me that.

The dorm is pretty amazing in my opinion. It was suite style with a small kitchenette, a bathroom, two rooms, and a living room. Basically a small apartment on campus with only students. As I set my book bag down on the small chair at the kitchen table, I heard footsteps coming from the direction of Luce's room. I don't know why I still get so shy and embarrassed, but I busy myself with my bag, probably looking very idiotic, until I feel the weight of an arm around me.

"Hey Connie."

I melted. I really did. I don't know how it happened, but I'm so enamored with him, I can't help but get excited when he's around, or when he's touching me. I stand up straight and turn to look up at him, and offer him a little smile.

"Hey Luce." I always feel so lame when I talk to him. I feel like an awkward child speaking to someone so much more intelligent than me. Well… he is. It isn't like I'm failing school or anything, and it isn't like I'm barely making it. But Luce is _really_ smart.

He takes his arm from around me and sits at the table, propping his feet up before lighting a cigarette and sighing, stretching out. And this time I really look at his face. His hair is so blonde. And not that super yellowy kind. It's kind of pastel, a creamy, light yellow. And his eyes are dark, and his face is smooth and perfect and just _pretty_. He's in a white dress shirt, and it's a bit unbuttoned, and black slacks with black socks, his shoes having been abandoned by the door. Really. What on _Earth_ does he see in me?

I sit down in the chair beside him and try not to make it obvious I'm admiring how he looks. "Did you have another presentation today?" I ask, chewing on my bottom lip as I lean forward on the table, resting my hands in my palms, propped up on elbows.

"Today… has been a day." He sighs, tilting his head back and blowing smoke towards the ceiling. Smoking was prohibited in the dorms, but he did it anyway. He said he 'didn't give a fuck', and his parents would just pay the fine once they moved out.

"Yeah. Fuckin' presentation about ATP and the Krebs cycle. I swear to fuckin' God, that shit's so elementary, and I've had to go over it a million fuckin' times. I'm going to go to _medical school_. I think by now we should be focusin' a bit more on shit like medicine and cuts. That's what I get for havin' to major in this strictly Bio shit. I don't need to learn about goddamn plants to be a doctor either, those fucks." I nod dumbly at him, happy to listen. I remember going over those things in my biology class last year. For me, it wasn't elementary. I have to try not to flush at the fact that I feel stupid in comparison. But like I said, Luce is _smart_. And even the way he swears sounds elegant with his accent. It's actually something I really like about him. He's basically living a life I wish I could in a lot of ways.

"I'm sorry Luce." He raises a brow at me, shaking his head, leaning forward to dab his cigarette in the ash tray on the table before sitting back again. "Eh, don't need to be apologizin'. Ain't your fault anyway. What'd you do today?"

One thing I keep forgetting: I don't tell him about the psychiatrist bullshit my mother pulls on me. He knows she's pretty crazy, but I'm not about to dump those problems on him.

"Just school." I shrug, "Took me some time to get my mother to lay off."

"Heheh. Sneakin' around jus' to see me, huh?" then he smiled at me. I love it when he smiles at me. I've come to find that I may have a really big problem. When I'm around Luce, I can't keep my eyes off of him. When I'm away from Luce, I can't keep my mind off of him. Luce has his good and bad days, but considering he put his arm around me, and is smiling at me, I can tell already that, despite what he had said, he was in a good mood. I can't help but smile back and keep to myself while he finishes his cigarette. In a setting like this, I've quickly learned to let him initiate the talking… It's his few minutes of personal time no one is allowed to interrupt without his permission. Once he's finished, he wastes no time in going through my book bag and pulling out my sketch pad. Yes, I can barely hold my excitement. He only fishes through that when he's _very_ happy. I sit in silence, unafraid. I caught on quick and started hiding the sketch book with more emotionally personal drawings, so I know whatever he's viewing is okay for him to see.

"Busy, busy. You've drawn three more, Connie." Curiosity striking me, I reach over and grab his backpack, pulling out his notes to look over. His handwriting is really scratchy, but the lines are all very thin and clean, making it easy to read so long as I concentrate. He really is meant to be a doctor, I guess. Shitty handwriting and all. Thank God he doesn't want to be a psychiatrist.

We spend a lot of time just talking, sitting at the table. I can tell Luce is tired and I am afraid to overwhelm him, so I let him lead the conversation. Then again, I guess I do that most of the time anyway. Like everyone says: I'm socially awkward.

Far before I'm ready to go, he tells me he has things to do. I suppose it's better that way, it's already seven, and I don't think mother would be happy if I came home at nine anyway, even though she told me that was my curfew. As I stand to start gathering my things, he stands as well and comes closer to me, one of his nimble hands coming to brush through my hair and ruffle it. Even though he's in a good mood, I guess beneath everything I was starting to feel scared. I mean we are _together_, right? And not having any physical contact with him the whole visit was a little scary…

I try to smile at him to let him know that I appreciate what he's doing, but I guess it didn't really reach my eyes because he tilts his head and he looks a little lost, if only for a flicker. But he doesn't ask me what's wrong. He never asks me those kinds of things. Considering I am asked that so often by psychiatrists, I want to say it's better he doesn't add to it, but I don't know if I really mean that or not. Regardless, he bends down and his lips are on mine and I close my eyes and shift onto the front of my feet because it feels so good I can't help myself.

I didn't really know how much I missed this, or how much I love it until it happened. His lips are a little chapped, but I don't really care, and for once, I don't care Lamont is right behind us, sprawled out on the couch and scribbling in his notebooks. He tastes like cigarettes and that's okay with me too. He's too consuming. I lift my hands to grab onto his shoulders and I get a little lost in the kiss, tilting my head and moving my mouth against his.

I really needed him today.

I know this now.

But all good things have to come to an end, right? So he pulls back and he chuckles at me because I pouted a bit without realizing it. Resigning myself to my complete embarrassment and the truly pathetic and lame look I must have just given him, I stand straight and smooth my hoodie before grabbing my book bag and slinging it over my shoulder, heading to the door. He follows and tells me to text him before patting the top of my head and kissing my temple, and I leave a mess, a frazzled mess, holding my face and sliding my fingers through my hair with huffs and sighs.

I'm unsatisfied. I don't want to leave his side. I want to be able to say I tell him absolutely everything, but I don't. But maybe _that's_ the comfort I need. Being able to be with someone who assumes I'm normal, and who helps me think I am as well.

But it's too late, I'm out the door, and I'm panicking. I think I'm losing it. I had felt okay only moments ago, but now I worry. I'm scared. I'm afraid of the distance I'm feeling. I don't like feeling so lonely, especially when I'm with him. He didn't seem as attentive today, even though he was in such a good mood.

Maybe I'm over thinking these things.

Maybe I'm right. He's older than me by about six years. I'm a stupid child with depression and who the hell knows what else.

Maybe he was just tired from his long day.

I'll just believe that last option before I really start to freak.

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I got to avoid dinner with mother today, which was an especially relieving thing. I'm sure she would only talk about the newest failure of a psychiatrist and make me feel uncomfortable all over again. So instead, I go upstairs to my room after she asks me about my project. I just made up whatever I could and left as soon as possible. I sat at my desk and pulled out my 'secret' sketchpad and went to work on a few things to calm down before rest. I ended up drawing Luce, and I hated it. I struggle with drawing him because it's always missing something. I would love for him to pose for me and be a live model, but I don't think I have the courage to ask for that.

I'm an idiot.

I'm an idiot.

I'm a stupid idiot and I don't know what I am doing or thinking.

But Luce has such nice features and hair, I can't help it.

Stupid.

That's about the only thing I can think of as I crawl into bed and stuff my face into the pillow and pull the covers over me. School tomorrow and I hate it. And I'm sure I'll have to take those depression pills too. I hear those can really screw you up. Great.

I close my eyes and sigh. Why is everything so mixed up in my head? Why can't I just be normal like everyone else? I'd give anything to just feel happy and be able to close my eyes and fall asleep without all these negative things going through my head.

But I'm not normal, am I?


	2. Cigarettes

Oh man. Finally the next chapter. Don't kill me, but I've actually had it done since the day after the first one was posted. Problem was, I had a lot of life problems, and so I was having a hard time finding the motivation to proof read. It's a difficult task for me because I am the master of autocorrecting, even when reading out loud. So yeahhhh. Here ya go!

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Fluoxetine. Prozac. That's the pill I popped this morning. I wasn't even slightly happy by the idea, but considering I was sitting at the breakfast table, feeling too… _something_ to eat, with my mother expectantly staring at me, I took my glass of water and resigned myself to my fate.

School had gone by as it usually does: I stared blankly in class and scribbled down notes, holed myself up in the hallway during lunch and doodled away instead of eating, and trudged through the rest of my classes, only really half aware of what was going on around me. I just sort of had my head in the clouds all day. I didn't really feel any side effects from the medicine, other than a more intense loss of appetite than I have already, so to be honest, I was feeling pretty hopeful about the situation. That is, until I remembered that when it comes to me and medicine, I am one of those people who need to take it regularly for a few days before anything really starts happening. So, my fingers are constantly mentally crossed that this medicine will somehow find a way to only be helpful to me, rather than harmful.

I had taken the time earlier today when I got home from school to look up the medication online. It said that, typically, people who are being treated for OCD or depression start off on only 20mg a day. I'm taking 40mg. I'm pretty pissed off by this fact, considering that my mother probably found a way to talk my psychiatrist, or should I say, ex psychiatrist, into upping the dosage in order to keep at bay my 'problems'.

Needless to say, I'm feeling really alone and really shitty, and I don't really know what to do with myself. I'm restless and feeling trapped. I've finished my homework, and I have attempted to draw some more, but my heart's really not in it right now. I'm just lying down on my bed with my cell phone in my hand, sighing and struggling, chewing my lip and trying to figure out if I should text Luce.

It's a Friday night, and that's why I hesitate. It isn't like I'm not _allowed_ to text Luce. He did _tell_ me to text him, but that doesn't calm my worry that I wouldn't be managing to interrupt him somehow. He's in college with a lot of classes, homework, and long days. I can't blame him that he wants to unwind on the weekends and take advantage of the fact that he's twenty-one.

Still, I want…

I take out my phone; pull up his number and pause, staring at his name and the blank digital sheet beneath it before I start to type, slowly but surely:

_Hey Luce. Did you have a good day?_

It's lame and it's stupid and I feel kind of idiotic about sending that just now. I would think that because we've been together for a good chunk of time, I could actually learn to be more openly affectionate with him, but it's really strange with him sometimes, and I don't want to push my limits or seem overbearing. After all, I was having a really, _really_ hard time holding out on texting him until now to be honest.

Oh, my phone vibrated.

_Cnnie? Ya it wsa fine sorry u cant thype rite now._

I raised my brows at that one. Luce wasn't one to use text slang or be so careless with his spelling. He can't type right now? Shit, I really must be interrupting. Maybe he's in some late night Bio meeting. He has those sometimes and he could be typing under the table or from his pocket or something. I can't help but smile at that idea. Him being sneaky and being completely horrible about it considering that that text was a complete jumbled mess. I can't help but laugh to myself a little bit before I roll onto my stomach and realize that I'm suddenly feeling a lot better because that really was, well. _Cute_.

Just as I am beginning to text him back, my screen goes to that of an incoming call, his name sprawled across the front as his ringtone starts to play. Hm… he's calling but he can't type? Maybe he's driving or something.

"Luce?" I answer the phone, sounding pretty amused. "What are you doing?"

"Conniieee." He drawls out, sounding really amused as well, laughing for a moment.

"What are you doing, idiot?" I ask him with a laugh of my own, suddenly realizing how relieved I feel to hear his voice.

"Shit Connie I'm so drunk."

I'm silent.

My stomach plummets.

My mood is shot.

I feel out of place.

"You're drunk?"

"Yeaah. Fuckin' 'Mont invited all these chicks over." His words are well put together, but now I can hear the very definite slur, and the slight, unnecessary pauses that affirm what he just told me.

"…Oh Yeah?"

"Yeah. They brought a buncha alcohol like fuck. It's so good."

"Oh… I'm glad for you." I don't know what to say, and my voice sounds strained because I'm trying to pretend this doesn't bother me, and that I'm still as amused as I was before when I had the innocent idea in my head that he was being studious and sneaky.

"Yeah. Oh Connie, I wanted ta tell ya – Haha! Stop it. Wha the hell are ya doing?" He doesn't sound angry and there's the definite high pitched whine of a girl laughing and talking to him in the background. My face goes expressionless. That only really happens when I'm so upset I don't know _how_ to feel. I'm jealous, raging jealous and dammit, I hate that feeling so much, I feel really put out by this scenario. I would rather he not call at all. I would really have preferred to not know any of this was happening tonight.

"…I don't want to bother you Luce, you're busy. I'll let you go." My voice is stiff.

"Oh. 'Kay Connie, I'll see ya tomorrow okay? Yer comin' over. Bye." He obviously didn't notice my strain. I'm met with another girlish giggle and then the muted sound of a disconnected call. I hit the end button out of habit and roll over with a sigh. I want to tell myself I can trust him, and that he's behaving. I want to tell myself I'm happy he invited me over. That he still thinks of me and wants to see me, and that he sounded happy, and that should be good enough for me. His happiness should be my priority, and I suddenly feel like a complete ass for being angry. I hold my face and sigh and fight back the sting in my eyes because _fuck_, I am such a girl sometimes and I hate being so sensitive. But I miss him and I feel lonely…

I force myself to get under the covers and close my eyes, but my mind is going a million miles a minute, and I can't stop worrying. I can't.

nnnnnnnn

I'm standing in front of Luce's door, feeling really hesitant about knocking. I don't even want to know the state of their apartment. I've been there a couple of times after a party and have seen the mess they left alone, wanting to attend to it another time when they felt more stable. I'm worried that I'll come off as a complete asshole because I still feel really strange about that phone call. But my biggest fear is that I am here uninvited. I don't know how long Luce had planned on asking me over, and I don't know if he even _wants_ me over anymore, or _remembers_ telling me to come. But I've come to realize it's too late. I've already pulled strings to get out for the day, and it isn't like I have anywhere else to go. I just need to play it cool and trust Luce, and forget what happened, and get rid of this disgusting sinking feeling in my stomach, man up, and knock.

So I do.

I'm standing here and the seconds are ticking by like hours, and I'm feeling ready to run and pretend I was never here, but the sound of footsteps coming closer stops me from leaving. Well, more so paralyzes me. Because now I'm terrified and shy and awkward all over again. Luce is my priority. I want his happiness. This is just another visit, some more time I'm fortunate enough to spend with him, and that's what matters. I'm going to keep telling myself that.

The door opens, and it's Luce, and I'm smiling hopefully at him, praying to every God I've ever heard of that he remembers I'm supposed to be here, and isn't annoyed or confused by the visit.

"Connie."

"Hey."

He steps aside to let me in, not looking surprised or confused, thank God, and to my surprise, the dorm is _not_ a mess. When I turn to watch him as he shuts the door, I realize he looks oddly pleasant in a less expressive sort of way, and I feel relieved. I feel ready to jump on this opportunity and impress him so he doesn't think I'm such jealous girly boy who can't handle Luce for who he is. Putting a smile on my face, I step closer and muster all my courage to grab at his hand and look at him in a warm fashion.

"Have fun last night?" He kind of looks surprised by my actions. I'm crossing my fingers that means he expected me to be mad but was proven otherwise, and I feel good when I realize he looks a little less tense, and his expression relaxes into an easy smirk and smile hybrid. It suddenly dawns on me that I don't care anymore how last night affected _me_. If I want his attention to be on me and keep it there, I need to give him reason to love me, right?

"Yeah, it was pretty fun." He's grabbing my other hand now and pulling me closer before his hands are on my hips and _God_. I forgive him. I forgive him for everything because he's touching me and I love being here, close to him.

"You sounded like such an idiot." I laugh a little. "Did you have a hangover?"

"You have no fuckin' idea." He rolls his eyes a little before he changes subjects back to what I had said before, "An idiot? Liar. You thought it was cute."

I scrunch my nose a bit, but I feel grateful. I'm a really shitty flirt, and I feel embarrassed as hell when I try to, but I'm grateful for when he helps me along with it by prompting me. I swallow my shyness and nod a little, forcing myself to make eye contact. "Yes. Cute."

"That's what I thought." He's smirking smugly now, and I know he probably actually _does_ agree with me, and it's not all teasing, but whatever. I think if I looked as good as Luce, I would think I was cute too. I mean, he _is_.

"Shut uppp." I warn him, but it's hardly threatening. Probably the equivalent of a kitten trying to take on a shark. "Where's Lamont?"

"That fuck?" Luce scoffs and shakes his head, and though he's acting annoyed, I can tell by the slight quirk in his lips and the look in his eyes, that he finds it funny. "He's passed out like the fuck he is on his floor in his room. I had to help his fat ass in there last night, so I just left him there. No way I was dragging his sorry ass into bed and tucking him in like some sort of faggot."

"It was that bad? Is he okay…?"

"Oh yeah, he's fine. He woke up this morning long enough to bitch about his head before he fell asleep like some fuckin' princess. I can't wait 'til he looks in the mirror though. We all took some serious advantage of him last night. Well, the girls did."

Oh… I really wish he wouldn't have brought the girls up. It's one thing to be jealous of another guy. That makes me feel terrible. But I feel like absolute shit when I feel like I'm competing with girls because, well, if he prefers girls, there's nothing I could ever do to even stand a _chance_.

"How many girls were over here anyway?" I ask it, even though I don't want to, and force myself to be casual about it. I want to know more, but I don't want to seem suspicious.

"Fuck. Five or somethin'? That stupid ass was trying to get in all their pants. They weren't stupid, they knew. So I jus' made them coffee or whatever and told them to go the fuck home so I could sleep."

So he could sleep. God, I feel so relieved I could _cry_. But I also feel like a _complete and utter asshole_ for having doubted him in the first place. I don't know why I have to be so controlling and paranoid and suspicious. Jesus, day by day I'm starting to think my mother's right. In the middle of my self hating trip mixed with relief I can't help but smile and smile and smile at him, and he looks at me like I'm strange for acting so giddy all of a sudden, but for once, I don't care, I'm not self conscious. Today's going to be a good day, and I am going to force myself to be as open as possible and get in all the nice Luce time I can. So, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest and give a small squeeze, pulling back before I'm entirely ready, but he seems to have appreciated the hug.

"That was nice of you. Kicking a bunch of helpless drunk girls out."

"Hey! I was responsible. I got their fuckin' numbers from 'Mont to make sure they got home safe. They did. See, I'm a _gentleman_."

"Right." I raise my brow at him before taking him by the hand yet again and drag him over to the couch. I do this very rarely, simply because I know Luce likes to initiate things, but I can feel in my heart now is the right time to suck it up and make the moves first. I sit myself down on the couch and gesture to my lap, noting with joy that he knows exactly what I'm aiming for. He slides onto the couch and unfurls his long and thin (and gorgeous) body, slender legs up over one arm of the chair as he sets his head into my lap and sighs.

He only really does this with me when he's feeling sick, so I can tell the hangover's not completely gone. I thread my fingers through his hair and he groans and closes his eyes, moving his head to the side, showing me where he'd like me to touch. So I massage his scalp and temples, and even lift his head a bit to massage the nape of his neck for a little while, just feeling warm and _good_ that I can be affectionate with him today, and that I can feel like he's _mine_ without so much guilt. Why I feel guilty about everything I do, I don't really know.

I'm sort of lost in my thoughts, I guess, but when I look back down to watch my hands, I see that his eyes are open and he's looking at me. I can feel my brows furrow a little, and I know I'm appearing more reclusive and shy yet again, but I try to control my voice to sound more confident. "What?"

"Com'mere."

I raise a brow in confusion, bending over a little. "I am here. You're in my lap."

"I know that, princess." He says that in a snarky and sarcastic tone, but I know it's his way of calling me by a pet name and being nice.

"Then how would you like me to go about this?"

He rolls his eyes at me, mumbling about how I make everything so difficult before he sits up and repositions himself beside me, draping an arm around me before one hand came to grab at my chin, forcing me to look up at him. And the look in his eyes are intense and I'm seriously choking up, and I feel like I'm hypnotized because I can't look away.

"Hmmm?" I murmur out to fill the silence, attempting to be coy about the situation, but he ignores my sound and leans down, kissing me so _amazingly_ I really don't think I can breathe.

It's pretty slow and passionate for a typical Luce kiss. I get the feeling he's reserved about open affection that isn't strictly sexual. I wonder sometimes if being sexual is a sort of shield for him so that he doesn't feel so vulnerable. But he's allowing himself to be vulnerable right now, and that means more to me than I could ever express.

My negative thoughts go out the window, and I waste no time in sliding my fingers through his hair and kissing him back with equal emotion, my eyes closed and body slowly scooting closer until my leg is flush against his, and our torsos are turned, chests touching. And he's cupping my face and kissing me in a way that tilts my head back a little, and I feel like I'm suffocating and being eaten alive in the most amazing of ways. It's just a show of dominance, and I'm happy to submit and shrink beneath him so he can feel more in control, his tongue sliding between my lips to lap slowly and confidently against my own, and I feel a thrill at even the simplest action of him tilting his head the opposite way before resuming, our noses brushing.

I feel like it's been so long since we spent time kissing one another for more than twenty seconds at most. I really have lost all sense of time, but if I had to guess, I would say we've been at it for a good five minutes now, and I'm breathless and tingling all over, and my touches are getting more frantic, sliding up and down his back and over his shoulders and into his hair all over again in some sort of slow and needy cycle. He doesn't seem to mind though, because he keeps kissing me and sliding his tongue deeper, his hands now on my hips, fingers kneading and trying to find a way to pull me closer.

The kiss is starting to slow and my senses are returning bit by bit, his tongue now absent from my mouth, and I think I might be brave enough to admit here and now that I miss it. We're pulling back now, but we mutually keep leaning in for a few more pecks before we settle back from one another. I know I look like an idiot, but I'm too light headed and gooey feeling to care. I feel good, and consumed, and whole and just so, _so_.

"You're such a girl." He laughs at me after a good long look at my expression, but I shrug and push his shoulder lightly, shaking my head as if to deny his accusation.

"Just admit it. You're acting like a girl."

"Am not." I try to resist some more, frowning a bit dramatically, though I'm really not that offended. I agree I'm acting feminine and gazing at him a little too long. But you would stare at him too if you were this close and he was kissing you like that.

"Iss cute." He smirks at me, brows raised and eyes tilted to the side so he can see me as he speaks all muffled around a cigarette, beginning to light it. I flush and smile all goofy again because I really cherish the times he compliments me.

He takes a long drag before plucking the cigarette from his lips with a small wet yet airy sound that I've come to enjoy hearing as he exhales and settles back, sprawled out a bit as if to relax. I wonder if something's wrong with me sometimes in the sense that I am very attentive to and fond of, small things. Like that sound. It reminds me of our late night calls when he's relaxing before sleep, or the soft exhale of smoke that's dramatized when I can tell he's thinking.

My chest is feeling tight and hot, and I can't help myself, so I reach over and tug lightly on his ear as if to tease him before moving my fingers to smooth delicately through his hair once. He looks at me again, and smiles genuinely. Teeth and all. It's rare to see a toothy smile from him. I perk up immediately at the sight and smile wider before he closes his lips and shakes his head.

"How come you don't smile like that more often?" I suddenly ask, moving closer to him. I am good at getting vibes from him, and I have come to learn fast when close time is okay, and when he just wants some space. All day has been a good one though, so I don't feel so nervous when I tilt my head to rest it lightly on his shoulder, enjoying the small shifting feeling of him raising his hand to his lips and back down every once in a while.

"Eh…" he seems resistant, but I feel as though it's okay to push, so I do, but in a light and supportive tone.

"Tell me."

"…Don't like my teeth." I'm a bit surprised by this and glance up at him from my perch against him, raising a brow in question.

"Why? I like them."

"Yeah, well. They're crooked." He shifts a little bit, looking really uncomfortable about revealing an insecurity to me, even such a small one, so I jump on the opportunity immediately to quell his worries. "So? It's not like they're super crooked or anything, Luce. I think it makes you unique. I don't notice it. I think they're cute."

What I said was entirely true and honest to my opinion, but deep down I feel a sick sort of relief about the state of his teeth. I feel better that his teeth are crooked and average rather than perfectly straight and blinding white like some stupid _Crest_ toothpaste ad because it makes me feel like he's more human. That small imperfection makes me feel like I have more of a chance and that he's not so God like. It's just… A weird, unexplainable comfort. Not that I want to be mean enough to tell him he's never allowed to correct them to maintain that comforting thought.

"Yeah?"

"Mm. Would you ever want to fix them?"

"Nah. No way in fuck I'm getting' braces, and that see through corrective retainer shit is annoying."

Figures. He's probably been popular his whole life. So when braces were suggested to him, he probably denied it vehemently in order to avoid any teasing. I don't blame him. I had braces, but only for a short while, thank _God_ for that. I still wear my retainer at night… But he doesn't need to know that.

Suddenly the cigarette is in front of my face, and I give him a strange look as if to ask what he's doing before he tilts his head in an expectant way that tells me what he's offering is obvious. "Smoke."

"Wh-what?" I raise my brows at this. Though I don't mind he smokes, I never considered smoking myself. I don't know why he was asking me to do such a thing. Maybe he gets some sick and twisted pleasure from corrupting people. I pout a little as I consider what he's asking me before I realize one drag isn't going to kill me, and I am curious. So I pluck it from his fingers and place it between my lips. I know I lack the coordination of a typical smoker, so I can hear him chuckle as I suck the smoke into my mouth and then struggle for a moment, inhaling sharply with my lips parted. I realize immediately this is a mistake, as, I begin choking out the smoke, disliking the thick burning feeling that resides in my throat, slamming my hand over my mouth as I finish out the rest of my short coughing fit. As I look up I can see his face mocking me, and hear him laughing loudly, shaking his head and patting his knee slightly as he runs out the course of his own fit.

"Prick." I accuse, but I'm smiling as he takes the cigarette back. Maybe him offering it to me was less for sick enjoyment and more of him just sharing with me who he is in a convoluted and vague way, but regardless, I feel as though this visit has already been a success, and relieving considering my previous state of mind. He's, at the very least, revealed to me something he doesn't like about himself, the first time he's done such a thing, and I feel a little more confident in whatever we have between us, because he's trusting me, and being more and more human every time I see him.

nnnnnnn

A/N: Here's a bit of fluff for you. I gift this to you because things are gonna get pretty dark again, sorry. ;3; I thought I would give you all a nice, happy gift before the sucky reality of life settles in. I want to make this as realistic as possible, so I have a strong need to balance the good with bad as well. A lot of what I am writing is true to how I have felt in many situations that have a strong connection to the ones I am writing, though it is nowhere near exactly like what I've gone through, if that makes sense. But what I am getting at here is that, though this is realistic emotion and thought to myself, I know it may not be how some of you readers may have felt. But remember, little Connie is going to be going through some tough shit thanks to his mother, and medicine. I'm all about deeper meaning and actions being metaphors, so I try to explain them a bit so my points get across, but I don't think you guys are stupid by any means, so I do keep a lot discrete. But I try not to do it too much because, afterall, this is a fanfiction, and not some book you read in English, so I don't want you to have to sit there and analyze to truly understand. I am sure you guys have to do that enough, I know I do. Anyway, long author's note is long, so, sorry!


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